Everyday life as a Domina

Tag Archives: Safeword

It’s no secret that he’s been a ginormous, hairy, smelly, applejuice-farts ass.

And I had a plan.

I went to the Domme munch and relayed my months-long story to all of them, and a few of the subs, mostly to make sure that I wasn’t being insane, irrational, or blowing the whole thing out of proportion. I had a plan, and wanted to make sure that I wasn’t being a crazy person, before I set the plan into action. It’s always good to get that outside perspective, that objective point of view.

When two of the subs gasped in horror at multiple points in my telling, and all three of the Dommes declared that they’ve ended relationships for slighter offenses (granted, they weren’t married), I was satisfied. I ran the gist of my plan by them, again, to make sure I wasn’t being a crazy person. I wanted to make damn sure that I wouldn’t be going too far.

The plan was met with unanimous approval.

So I enjoyed myself, confident in my plan.

After the munch, I made two stops. The first was to the adult bookstore, where I bought a leather paddle reinforced with steel, and nice big dildo to replace the purple one I lost, and a butt plug that would probably make his voice go up two octaves upon insertion.

The second stop I made was to the grocery store, where I bought two packages of clothespins.

I came home, set the bags down on the couch, and headed to the bathroom to take a quick shower. Before I could even speak, he announced that he didn’t feel like putting the cage on when he got home from work, because he wanted to take a shower, blah blah blah, more shit that I don’t care about.

But it didn’t bother me. I shrugged my shoulders, said a nonchalant “Okay,” and hopped into the shower.

He was still sitting on the couch when I got out, so I grabbed my bags and went into the bedroom to set up.

I made sure the under-the-bed restraints were in place, laid out his collar, my flogger, new paddle, Wartenberg wheel, the clothespins, rope, dildo, and plug.

Then I went to the kitchen and pulled out the ginger root, and began peeling it and shaping it. In the middle of that, I called out to him and told him to come into the kitchen.

He walked in and I saw him hesitate when he saw what I was doing. I was fully expecting him to protest, but he stayed silent. So I told him to go into the bedroom, take his clothes off, and put the collar on.

Again, I was expecting an argument, but I guess he heard something in my tone, or decided it wasn’t worth the argument, or whatever. Regardless of the reason, he immediately obeyed, then headed into the bathroom to clean himself up.

When he came back out, he was wearing the cage.

Aww, what a nice gesture. He knew he was in trouble.

Too little, too late, bitch.

I tied him spread-eagle, on his stomach, down on the bed. Then, I grabbed my flogger and went to work.

My flogger is small and light, made out of braided leather, and can deliver a nasty sting. I’ve had it for… God, it must be a decade, now… and I’m damn good at using it. I can hit the same exact spot, over and over again. I can snap it and nail the smallest target.

He knows this. He’s endured it before.

But he’s never endured it like this.

I was letting my inner sadist take the reins; something I’ve never done with him before.

And it was more than the physical pain. Sure, he hated the pain, but the pain just wasn’t enough for me.

So I varied the intensity, actively working to keep him out of subspace, to keep the endorphins from starting, to keep him mercilessly and uncomfortably aware. I know his body so well, and that knowledge became a weapon.

Oh, and he hated every moment of it. There was nothing submissive about him in that moment. He was defiant and angry.

And that was fine with me.

After using the flogger, I introduced him to my new paddle, and that pissed him off even more. That one was a little harder to control, because it’s so unfamiliar, so I only used it for a few minutes before switching to the ginger.

Seeing him react to that was awesome. He’s always hated it, but with the added pain from the flogging and paddling, it was a real struggle for him to handle it. He was getting madder and madder by the minute, and I could hear it in his voice. At first, he didn’t want to use my title, but a few especially hard whacks with the paddle finally convinced him to say it. But he spit my name like a curse. Sure, the words may have been, “Yes, Mistress,” but what he was really saying was, “Fuck you.”

Works for me.

I shoved the ginger in all the way and just held it there for awhile, letting him deal with it. Then, after a few minutes of that, I left it in (I’d carved it more or less into the shape of a plug) and went back to my trusty flogger.

By this point, I don’t know that I’d ever seen him that angry before. He was pulling so hard on the cuffs, it was actually lifting the mattress up. But I didn’t react. All I did was make sure that the restraints were still secure, then went on doing my thing.

He was screaming and cursing. At one point, he called me a “son of a fucking whore.” I just shrugged, completely indifferent to everything he said, everything he was going through. I was enjoying myself. He could rant and rave all he wanted, but I would ignore it all. I wanted to make sure he’d remember this night every time he sat down, for the next week.

Finally, I finished with the flogger and sat down on the bed next to him, and grabbed the wartenberg wheel. One quick pass across the tender skin on his ass elicited his first “Yellow” of the night.

Quick side note: We use the “Red, Yellow, Green” system for safewords. All caught up? Outstanding.

“You said you wanted ‘mean,'” I said sweetly, setting the wheel down and turning my attention back to the ginger.

He didn’t seem particularly pleased with my words. I didn’t particularly care. As the effects of the ginger started to fade, I took it out and replaced it with the big dildo.

And it was at this point that he started saying “Yellow” every other second. It was annoying.

For about ten minutes, I dealt with that, but my patience was wearing thin. I felt like a whole other person. It’s been a long, long time since I was that deep in Domspace. The sadist in me wanted to just gag him and not deal with it anymore. And yeah, the thought was tempting. But I also recognized that I might still be holding on to some anger, and it can be really, really dangerous to play when angry.

So I didn’t gag him.

It was still getting on my nerves.

But then, I felt like I’d just been hit by a flash of lightning.

That was it!

It was the safeword. He’d never been forced to give up control. That’s why nothing I did over the past months would work. How could it, when he could dictate what was done to him, when it was done, the intensity of what was done, and how long it lasted?

He had the power, and he damn well knew it.

Well, fuck everything about that.

So I told him that he couldn’t use “Yellow” anymore. I took away from him.

And I guess I should’ve known that he would almost immediately say “Red.” But he’s never said it before, so it was a surprise.

I was disappointed. I had at least another hour of fun planned. Now I was pissed.

Nothing I could do was going to fix this. I felt completely hopeless, completely powerless. I considered leaving right then and there.

He would always be able to take control of any situation. He’d never give it up.

I felt trapped. God, I wanted to run.

And, I’m ashamed to admit, I wanted to ignore his safeword. The sadist in me was out in full force (and let me clarify; I’m not talking about the fun sadist. I’m talking about the dangerous one, the one capable of real cruelty. The one that, as a kid, made me 100% sure I was going to grow up to be a serial killer. The one I work very hard to keep locked up at all times) and I wanted him to hurt.

But no, I pulled that part of myself back into control, and let him up. I wasn’t going to make myself a criminal by assaulting him.

He lied there for a few moments, and I cleaned up all of the toys, sighing as I put away the ones I hadn’t gotten the chance to use.

My original plan spanned fourteen days, but at that moment, I didn’t even see the point. Really, what was the point, when he could control the whole thing?

But then, another bolt of lightning hit me.

I couldn’t take away his safeword. Not yet. I’ve known plenty of slaves who give up their use of safewords when they’re collared (and have owned a few), but kazander just wasn’t there yet. Taking it away from him now would be the wrong kind of cruel. I couldn’t morally spring that on him.

More than that, and now that I think about it, I doubt he would have agreed to it.

So I wouldn’t take it away. But I would make it very difficult for him to use.

For a moment, I didn’t voice my thoughts. I momentarily shut off my emotions (yeah, I can do that. I’ve never lied when I said I was immune to human emotion) and thought it through logically.

What I was about to do was very sudden, a bit controversial, and would most likely piss him off all over again. First of all, I needed to make sure that I meant it, and would follow through with it.

Check.

Second, I needed to make sure that I wasn’t going too far.

Eh, maybe, but I was willing to accept the consequences of that. So, check.

And lastly, I needed to make sure that I had come down from Domspace enough to handle his reaction.

Check.

Finally, he got up off the bed and, somewhat quietly, announced that he was going to go for a walk.

As he was walking out the door, I called to him and stopped him.

“For future reference, if you ever say ‘Red’ to me again, the session will end, and so will our marriage.”

And, cue the gasps.

I never claimed to be a good person, people. And I figured that was a better option than just leaving that night.

I don’t let Dom/mes or vanilla people talk to me the way he has the past few months. I don’t let anyone disrespect me the way he has. This goes much further than just the BDSM aspect of our relationship. This is about a very drastic change in how we interact as a couple. I’ve tried fixing it as a Mistress and as a vanilla wife, and as both simultaneously. He outright refuses to talk to a professional about anything, so marriage counseling was out of the question (and would have been incredibly difficult, given the BDSM aspect, anyway). I’ve tried focusing only on the positive, I’ve tried shrugging it off and saying, “Oh, he’s just stressed.” I’ve tried forcing him back to where he needs to be. Nothing has worked. And no, I don’t love him enough to put up with it forever.

And I’m sure as hell not going to make my kid grow up in a family where parents interact with each other that way. I grew up with a dad like that. And I’m glad the bastard is dead.

So yes, I said it. Yes, I meant it. Yes, I will absolutely follow through with it. One way or another, he will no longer treat me that way. I took the control away from him.

Of course, he was pissed all over again. He stormed out and slammed the door behind him. And I still didn’t care.

Actually, now that I was alone, I realized how turned on I had gotten from letting my sadist out to play. So I went into the bedroom, plugged in my trusty Thunder Stick, and went to work.

I came twice before he came back. He got into bed, rolled over, and went to sleep without a word.

It was much harder for me to fall asleep. I felt energized, pumped up, and incredibly turned-on. It was 4:30 by the time I finally went to bed, and I came three more times before finally falling asleep.

He normally calls me to wake me up in the morning, but when I woke up and realized it was 12:30pm (don’t freak out, the kid is staying with the inlaws for a few days), I was ready for Round 2.

I texted him and said, “If you’re not going to call to wake me up, could you let me know?”

I was expecting him to be defensive and angry. Knowing him, he was probably talking shit about me to all his friends (we’ve had conversations about how he deals with anger. And I know that I never, ever want to know what he says to his friends about me when he’s angry. I never say things I don’t mean. When he’s angry, he’ll vent to his friends to get it out of his system. And I’m fine with that, as long as I never, ever find out what he’s said).

So it surprised me a bit to receive this:

“Sorry, I didn’t know you wanted to get up today. I know you were up late last night and I didn’t think you had gotten up this week when I did call since you didn’t have the kid. I’m sorry.”

Well, then.

I dropped my guard and took the gloves off. There was no reason to be a bitch to him. He didn’t know that I had been counting on being woken up, because I hadn’t told him. And he’s right, I was up really, really late.

So I said,

“It’s alright. I probably should’ve told you I’ve been signing in to work during the day, since I took Weds and Thurs night off.”

And he replied with,

“Oh, I didn’t know that. I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright.”

“The glue worked on the lock, btw.”

“Good. I’m glad it did.”

Another side note: I bought a new lock for his cage, since the key to the old one is so ugly. But the lock is all metal, and makes quite a bit of noise when he moves around, and it taps against the steel of the cage. So I put a bunch of superglue on the back and let it dry, to create that rubbery texture that would keep it from making noise.

So alright. He wasn’t being a dick, he had actually apologized for something for the first time in weeks (yeah, y’all… it was that bad), and I was satisfied. We actually ended up texting more during the day today than we had for months. It was nice.

And then, when he came home, I got a bouquet of roses, another apology, and a hug. So my plan for tonight changed. I still played with him, but it was much more enjoyable for him. I wanted to reward him, to reinforce this new attitude.

And it was fun.

Sure, some of those old habits tried to come back. But he wants mean, so I’m giving him mean. I slapped those habits down immediately. He tried to get an attitude when I asked him to recite his slave registry number. He said that he had forgotten it because I didn’t ask him to recite it often enough.

Yeah, no.

At the end of our playtime, when I went to cage him back up after countless edges, he tried to argue, again. A simple “Who decides when we’re done?” was all it took, and he shut up.

I’m not expecting him to change completely, overnight. That’s not realistic, and it’s not fair to expect that of someone. He’s been in this habit for months. I’m expecting him to forget, to occasionally backslide. And I’ll be right there to remind him.

I swear though, if I see so much as one eye-roll, I will beat him in the balls with the paddle until he throws up. And then I’ll beat him some more.

We didn’t talk about last night’s session. And we need to. We both know we need to talk about it. We acknowledged that fact tonight, right before he went to bed. And I know he’s going to want to talk about my little ultimatum. But that’s a conversation for tomorrow, or maybe the day after. For tonight, I’m happy, and I’m optimistic.

So kazander has rules he has to follow. Over the past few weeks, I’ve gotten a bit lax on enforcing them. I think it’s time to bring him back in line. I wrote these way back in the day, and the cheeky little slut still tries to get around following them every chance he gets. Continue reading →

1. Hurting others for sexual pleasure: the gaining of sexual gratification by causing physical or mental pain to other people, or the acts that produce such gratification
2. Being cruel for fun: the gaining of pleasure from causing physical or mental pain to people or anymals
3. Cruely: great physical or mental cruelty Continue reading →

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What this blog is

This is an 18+ blog about my day-to-day life as a Domina, wife, mother, and all that other crap. A chronicle of me. While this blog focuses primarily on the D/s aspect of my life and my relationships with Kazander, Steel, and Sounder, it is not exclusive to that subject, and I might talk about my kid, or my annoying mother, or my sister's pet cat, or whatever the hell I feel like talking about.

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It begins over a friendly disagreement, during which you smile, roll your eyes, and say, “Go fuck yourself.”

“But, Ma’am, that’s physically impossible.”

You smirk and ask how certain I am of this. On a roll, I launch into a smug and tangential rant about the anatomical impossibility of an individual’s being capable of fucking oneself. Your response is to merely shrug, smile, and make a cryptic statement:

“Don’t be so sure…”

Later that evening, you tell me bedtime will be early, an hour early to be exact. The amused look on your face says it would be in my best interests not to argue.

Sometimes I fall into a vicious cycle where I’m mentally and emotionally frustrated and cannot manage to channel that energy into productive avenues. In the old days, this would lead to drinking or drugs, but I don’t do that anymore. Instead, I try to go about my day, generally fail to complete mundane tasks and end up feeling ‘stuck’ – this progresses into a cycle of mild depression, feelings of inertia, guilt over said inertia, and then on and on it goes until something snaps me out of it.

It feels like I’m seated in a car stuck in neutral yet compelled to rev the engine until it screams.

When did I last curl up in her lap? It’s been so long, I cannot recall. Despite numbered boxcars on the calendar and the disinterested faces of clocks, a concrete memory eludes me. Time, location, and date, they’re merely three dimensions after all.